03-19-2015, 04:27 PM
His voice is a buzzing slave.
A fly on the wall
I smear the hardwood with elbow grease
And under these diode stars
Curtains fall over me
And drag me down into the night.
Inside of my square carousel
A book is the sun
Of my solar system.
Black holes melt into puddles,
Slide off the page
And say hello to my eyes.
The crowd cheers for me.
Bottle in my fist,
I Soldier on.
Liquify my brain,
Valves bent with pent-up steam
on just one of many pipes.
The alarm rings but I haven’t
Set the clock.
Red filt streaks
Run through the paper
Crumpled in my fist.
I breathe out.
The world shifts back upright,
Still crooked. Still dim.
A fly on the wall
I smear the hardwood with elbow grease
And under these diode stars
Curtains fall over me
And drag me down into the night.
Inside of my square carousel
A book is the sun
Of my solar system.
Black holes melt into puddles,
Slide off the page
And say hello to my eyes.
The crowd cheers for me.
Bottle in my fist,
I Soldier on.
Liquify my brain,
Valves bent with pent-up steam
on just one of many pipes.
The alarm rings but I haven’t
Set the clock.
Red filt streaks
Run through the paper
Crumpled in my fist.
I breathe out.
The world shifts back upright,
Still crooked. Still dim.